The Time Lady
by Linnadra
Summary: Irene Adler had dreamt the same dream her whole life. Two changes were made. The first because of an encounter with Harold Saxon, the second because of Sherlock Holmes. Then she played a game, a game that changed everything, a game she lost. It was only the beginning.
1. Prologue: Barrier

Author's note: I should mention that this is my second ever fan fic... And that English isn't my first language... And that it'll take a while for me to write and upload the rest, I need to focus on school. Anyway, I hope you'll like it. Please, let me know what you think.

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><p><em> Prologue: Barrier<em>

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><p>She had the same dream every night. Pain, fear and a golden light. There was a woman screaming, and she suddenly felt like a child. She felt like a scared child longing for her mother. Then everything was fussy, but she remembered pain. A lot of pain. And a lot of anger.<p>

After twenty four years of the same dream she still wasn't used to it.

One day it changed. It was still the same dream, but something new was added. She didn't know what, it just felt different.

Often she looked back on the day, trying to figure out what could have changed. The only significant thing that happened during that day was that she met Harold Saxon, the shortest running Prime Minister ever.

He had sent a message to her, saying that he would visit her at 10am the second day of his reign. It didn't say why, only that he wasn't there for her _services_.

The whole meeting had been strange, but for all her amazing intelligence, she still couldn't figure out what made the dream change.

It was as if there was a barrier in her mind shutting her out of a whole area of her brain, a very important area. No matter how hard she tried to break the invisible barrier, it was completely impenetrable.

When Mr. Saxon arrived he took her pulse, first with his bare hands and watch, then he listened to her heart with a stethoscope. He didn't explain why.

For some reason she both trusted and feared the man. The barrier in her mind was there when she tried to find an explanation.

Mr. Saxon asked her if she had a fob watch in her possession after looking disappointed about the weird pulse taking. Her answer made his face fall again.

"What a pity, my dear." he said before he left. "You would have been perfect, absolutely perfect. So alike him. Well, I guess it's only the two of us left then."

Five years passed and the dream changed again. This time it was an actual change, even if it was minor. With Sherlock Holmes as the catalyst.

The change came in the fussy and painful part of the dream. Among the dark and fussy images that she never could get a grasp of, his face showed up. It was as if she started to remember something important, as if a piece of her mind behind the invisible barrier had escaped.

She still didn't know why.


	2. Chapter 1: Dawn

_Chapter 1: Dawn_

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><p>She didn't really know why she did it. Not for him, not after all the times he had hurt Molly, her best and only friend.<p>

She did it because Molly asked her to, and she could never say no to her. Especially not when it meant something to her. Molly cared about him, not only as a romantic interest, but also as a friend. If something happened to him she would be devastated and Irene could not bear to cause her any harm.

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><p>She was busy getting ready to receive a royal visit when Molly called her. Irene quickly ushered Kate out of the room as soon as she saw the name on the display.<p>

"Astra, I'm sorry if I disturbed you, but this is pretty important." Molly's little voice said, drenched in worry.

Astra, her first and "real" name. Only Molly called her that, because only she knew. Well, her uncle, or adopted uncle, also knew and called her that on the rare occasions they spoke. After the death of her adoptive parents his visits from the US had been sparse, and Irene preferred to keep her distance due to his former employment in the FBI.

"You know you never could disturb me, sweetie!" Irene exclaimed, happy to just hear her voice. It had been a long time since they last spoke and she missed that reassuring sound. "What is troubling you, dear?"

"You know the gas leak in Baker Street two weeks ago, and that in Yorkshire a few days ago?" Molly asked, Irene perking up a bit at the Baker Street mention, a worried frown creasing her brow. She knew that those weren't gas leaks, but how would Molly know? And Baker Street implied that this had something to do with bloody Sherlock Holmes. "Sherlock is on some kind of case relating to them, and Greg told me that it had something to do with a man called Moriarty."

Irene swore. She'd heard of Moriarty, but never come into contact with him, luckily. One of his henchmen often required her services.

"That bad, then?" Molly asked. Irene knew she was biting her lip.

Irene didn't answer. _Stupid, stupid man! You don't challenge Moriarty and get away with it! What the hell was he thinking?_

"Sherlock has gone to confront him. He just posted it on his blog, an invitation to acquire something."

"I'll see what I can do. Please don't bother yourself, it's probably nothing, sweetie." Irene said, trying to sound reassuring and hopeful. "We must be careful with our correspondence from now on, though."

"You're the best, Astra. But please, don't do anything too dangerous or stupid. I don't know who this Moriarty is, but if he's too dangerous, don't do anything. You're a million times more important than Sherlock, you know that." Molly said before hanging up.

Despite Molly's warning, it was too late. Irene was going to play the most dangerous game she might ever play, and no one could stop her.

_This is going to be fun!_

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><p>Calling Moriarty had been dreadful. The fear had threatened to take over, but she managed to keep it securely locked in.<p>

There hadn't been that much time to plan the conversation, so she improvised most of it. She told him of all the things that were saved in her camera phone, with the MoD document she acquired earlier as the main bait. It was hard not to notice the way his interest sparked as soon as that particular piece of information was mentioned.

She didn't know why she had waited to just before she was about to do nasty, unspeakable things to a member of the royal family. A part of her felt that that was the right moment to do it, a part behind the bloody barrier. Another part felt extremely relieved at the fact that she had been able to save him from certain death. For now.

Her life, on the other hand, was another matter completely.

_What the hell have I gotten myself into?_ she briefly thought as she hung up the call.

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><p>"What just happened there?" John asked his friend as Moriarty disappeared along with the hidden snipers.<p>

"Someone changed his mind. The question is, who?" Sherlcok muttered in response.

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><p>At first, on Moriarty's orders, Irene took the MoD document to the best cryptographers in the world. None of them could decipher it. Other plans were therefore made. Involving <em>that man<em>, the thing she wanted to avoid.

What if Molly got involved? The thought made her stomach clench in an unpleasant way. She would just have to try her best to hide her weakness from Moriarty, _that man_ and the bloody government.

Even if she was pretty confident of success, of beating Sherlock Holmes, she wasn't sure if Moriarty would like to cut out loose ends afterwards.

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><p>Canton Everett Delaware III received a call from his niece for the first time that year in late August, concerning her will.<p>

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><p><em>Authors Note: Okay. Let me explain. I love Molly and therefore I wanted her to have a bigger role in this and the friendship between the two of them will come to have a meaning to the story, so wait and see! Please let me know what you think about this decision. I can't really say that this is the best thing I've ever written, but it will have to do.<em>

_Ps. Happy birthday, Kaida, love. You're absolutely wonderful! I love you sooo much. _


	3. Chapter 2: Decode

_Chapter 2: Decode_

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><p>Stepping into that room, seeing him, his movements, that glint in his eyes. Hearing his voice. Something within her suddenly ignited, like she remembered something, something important. It was like a lost memory that sprung to life, but she couldn't remember anything yet. However, his voice sounded eerily familiar. She just knew that she had heard his voice before, but she couldn't possibly fathom when. Trying to dig deeper was futile, the barrier adamantly hindered any kind of entrance to that part of her mind.<p>

It wasn't simply a stir or any minor part of her that was altered. The whole of her changed slightly. The girl she had hid and caged deep inside of her for so long finally managed to reclaim some ground.

Doctor Astra Adler at last awoke.

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><p>No matter how hard he tried he couldn't figure her out. Due to her lack of clothes and iron mask it was impossible to read her. He didn't want to admit to himself how much this frustrated him.<p>

Her words and her voice fascinated him to no end. She sounded so determined and cold, yet there was an undertone of warmth that he could barely pick up. The words that she used seemed to be a disguise she hid underneath, yet so very much linked with who she was.

Her aesthetics were another mystery. The pale skin and incredibly thin limbs gave an impression of fragility, like a porcelain doll. Yet her posture was proud and witnessed of strength and spirit. Her face was like a statue sculpted long ago in the finest of marble. It was the very essence of perseverance and independence. Still there was the faintest trace of vulnerability in her frigid eyes.

Everything about her were just endless contradictions. All his attempts to deduce something about her only added to his perplexity. He wasn't even sure that his feeble deductions were correct. She was just too composed and blank.

It wasn't only the incomprehensible fact that he was unable to read her that confounded him. The way that he focused on her entirely baffled him. And that strange, alien need to impress her and have her focus her entirely on him. It scared him to no end that she was able to have such a power over him.

He knew he should probably not see her again after all this, but he wasn't ready to let her go before he figured her and what she'd done to him out.

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><p>She wanted to hurt him. It wasn't just necessary to make him drop her phone, she felt the need to strike him.<p>

As the syringe penetrated his skin and she released the drug, a part of her savored the triumph that came with somehow hurting him.

Her hit landed on his marble skin with a bittersweet satisfaction, sending him tumbling down towards the floor. He still maintained enough strength to not fall down entirely.

Truth be told, it wasn't like the whip really was necessary to make him let go of her phone, but an unexplainable animalistic rage built within her at having that man at her feet.

She struck him, lying to herself, pretending to be fuelled by the anger at his treatment of Molly. But there was something else that fed the fire that drove her to violence, something she really couldn't explain. That bloody barrier was once again in her path.

A small voice inside of her silently cried.

"Why didn't you come? Where were you? Why did you leave me?"

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><p><em>Authors note: Oh my, this was written very quickly. I'm actually quite happy with it, unlike last chapter. It's also a bit shorter than the last, but the next will probably be longer.<em>

_ I like writing about feelings and thoughts, so this was incredibly fun to write. I actually spent an entire mathematics class writing the end of the Sherlock part and the whole of Irene's second part. Fun, but will probably leave my grades suffering. Sort of. Hehe..._

_Well, enough rambling. Please let me know what you think! Criticism and reviews are the best thing ever! _


	4. Chapter 3: Falling Slowly

_Chapter 3: Falling Slowly_

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><p>Why was he dreaming about her? Well, she had drugged him, so that probably had something to do with it, but it still surprised him.<p>

Her voice seemed so lucid and real, but it was surely a dream. When she spoke about the supposed murder, telling him what he figured out so fast, it seemed like she had known the truth for as long as he, which what was made the dream theory so much more likely.

"Shh, don't get up. I'm only returning your coat."

He opened his eyes to the empty room and called for John.

"Where is she?"

"Who?"

"The Woman!"

"What woman?"

"_The_ Woman! The woman Woman!"

After a brief explanation from John he was put back to bed and left alone to rest.

An erotic moan drew his attention to the door. His coat. It had been real. At least her voice. She had been in his room and she was incredibly intelligent.

It was actually then that he first realised and acknowledged how brilliant she really was. She had beaten him. Him. Not only hadn't he been able to figure her out, she even managed to outsmart him.

Irene Adler was really something different.

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><p>Even if the game with Sherlock Holmes and Moriarty was really risky, she felt happier. The loneliness which had dominated her life since she turned her back to the academic world lessened. Even if she was "the enemy", texting Sherlock always made her glad. The rage that had flared up during their first encounter had slowly faded, being replaced by something akin to endearment. He might be a jerk to Molly, but he was someone she could relate to. She also began to see why Molly liked him so much.<p>

Compared to others, he was different. For her he was completely normal. He was like her, which made him just him and not anyone different or special. In her eyes he was just a man, a person.

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><p>Her texts both amused and confused him. The irrelevant pleasantries brought smiles when he was alone and lit up his eyes when he was among others. Those he usually replied to, engaging her in conversation. Their conversations were, as an unspoken rule, never personal, more like competitions in wit.<p>

The flirty texts were another matter. They caused a sort of blackout, like a circuit short in his, at other times, flawless brain. He didn't really know how to register or process them, like during their first meeting when he began to stumble over his words after a flirty comment from her. Those texts were never answered. He just had no idea what to say to her. Not even through the texts could he figure her out. Even when she texted something that could be linked to her character, he didn't know if she was just playing tricks with his mind or actually telling the truth.

One text in particular fascinated him. It was sent in early November late one cloudless night. Something about that text seemed so alive, like a key to her, but it was so incompatible with how she acted and with how he thought she would be.

"Have you ever seen something that can compare to Jupiter in the night sky, surrounded by the Cetus, Aries and Pisces?"

"You seem to know an awful lot about astronomy."

He had to admit he looked up the words. Astronomy was something he had never bothered with and had deleted any information related to it.

"Mr. Holmes, what can compare to the vast expanses of the universe and it's wonders?"

He had no real answer to that, which left him to contemplate this new turn of events. She was interested in astronomy? Or was this just a lie to throw him off track? From what he had seen of her, it was a strong possibility. He put nothing past her, but that text somehow seemed so sincere. Well, thinking about it would get him nowhere, so he just added the clue to his Irene mind map.

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><p>How could she be dead? Gone? Not sending him texts? Not breathing? Not <em>alive<em>?

It was definitely her lying cold and lifeless on that slab. That was her porcelain skin and silken hair, so it couldn't be a trick.

He had to admit he didn't only want to check her identity, not as much as to see her one last time. The sight had more affect on him than he could show to Mycroft and Molly or even admit.

Silently he mourned, actually feeling.

Mycroft seemed to notice his brother's grief. His words refused to sink in with Sherlock, even though he knew they were true. He shouldn't care, but why did he?

Ever since he got the text and saw the blood red parcel, a veil of confused feelings hung over him. What was he meant to feel? The hope that she wasn't dead had been small and easily extinct. It shouldn't bother him, but why did it? Why did her death bother him so much?

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><p>John worried about his friend. Never before had he seen Sherlock behave in this way. Mrs Hudson had no answers either. Sherlock was mourning a woman he barely knew.<p>

A sorrowful melody grew from Sherlock's violin as each day passed. It was played frequently, which made it almost unbearable to linger in the apartment for a longer time. The lack of words from and food into Sherlock's mouth was also disturbing. Episodes like that had occurred before, but not with that dead expression in his eyes.

The song he composed, John guessed was his serenade to the Woman. A song he named The Woman's Song to himself.

Sherlock, however, called it Irene's Lament.

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><p><em>Author's note:<em> I'm not sure what to think of this chapter. I would be very glad for constructive criticism so I can make it better, as it is in dire need of improvement. Also, I'm looking for a Beta Reader, so if anyone's interested, PM me! :)


	5. Chapter 4: The State Of Dreaming

_Chapter 4: The State of Dreaming_

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><p>For the first time in what seemed like seemed ages she returned home. The big abandoned house loomed over her, haunted with the ghosts of her past. Countless happy memories of her adopted parents rushed back to her as she gazed at the old estate.<p>

First she went to the gazebo where a massive and very old telescope towered above her reaching into the skies. The ceiling was covered in a giant star map that desperately needed attention. The colours were slowly fading and some of the writing was gone. Come to think of it, the telescope wasn't in the best condition either. After all, it was over ten years since her world permanently shattered.

She gingerly touched the dusty surface of the telescope, noticing that it was still calibrated the same way as the last time she used it. The many years that has passed suddenly seemed like no time at all.

Her adoptive father in his wheelchair, like he had been for over a year. His weak movements as the cancer drained him. The hollow face of her adoptive mother as she faded with her husband.

Astra Irene remembered how they, her mother and her, had brought him out to the gazebo one last time. It had been a warm night in June, and Astra had only been eighteen, just about to graduate from college. She aimed the telescope at Jupiter and with the help of her mother positioned his head at the looking glass.

A month later he was gone. His wife followed a few days later and their adoptive daughter was left to face adulthood alone.

"She didn't have to die." she whispered into the forthcoming evening air.

Never had she been able to forgive her mother for leaving her like that, just because of grief. This left her with the realisation that loving someone made you weak and unable to do what you should. She decided to never love someone, to never really let anyone in ever again. An exception was made. Molly was the only thing stopping her from breaking apart. Over the years she distanced herself from her friend, as her dangerous lifestyle was a risk for anyone near her. The love for her friend never faded, though.

It wasn't that weird that her parents passed then. They had both been in their late fifties when they adopted her as a six year old. They didn't have that much time left, but Astra refused to accept that it was at least her mother's time.

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><p>The journey trough the estate brought forth so many more memories from her happy childhood to the more painful ones during her father's illness and the death of both her parents.<p>

The last room she visited was her own. Tears were almost brought to her eyes as she saw the almost unchanged room covered in dust, but still so recognisably hers. It was a fairly large room and looked like it had been taken straight out of a fairytale. The walls and the ceiling bore a correct representation of the night sky, with the star signs, bigger stars, galaxies and nebulas labeled with ornate writing. A large four-post bed with gossamer cloth hanging down the tall posts in the middle of the room captured her attention next. The pillows and sheets were the same as when she left all those years ago. Even the wrinkles in the fabric were the same. There were however no wet spots on her favourite pillow. The remnants of her shed tears had been obliterated by time.

She sat down on the bed, her hands tracing the fabric beneath her as she allowed herself to remember and cherish the happy memories.

Her eyes suddenly focused on a deviation in the dark wood of one of her bed's posts. A single word was carved into the post. _Heroine_.

"How..?" she whispered and leaned forward, a questioning look on her face. It had never been there before, she was sure of it. It looked new as well, the wood hadn't quite settled. The dust in the room was however equally distributed and had not been upset. So how had it gotten there? And more importantly, who had carved it into the post and why? The word struck a chord within her and her mind strangely wandered to her old pendant. She used to wear it all the time, but left it at home with everything else after moving to Oxford to attend university. Trying to think more about the connection was futile as she felt the barrier in her way. It also reminded her of what she actually was here to do.

She got up from the bed and crouched down beside it. With care she removed one of the floorboards under the bed and took out an ornate box. It was small enough to fit in her palm and made of the most exquisite mahogany with carved swirls filled in with golden paint all over the surface. Her first name was inscribed on the top.

She filled her lungs with the stuffy air and blew away the dust from the lid. Tenderly she traced her name with her right index finger, trying to evoke some kind of feeling. The pain she expected to overwhelm her never came.

She opened the box and took out the pendant that had been resting on a bed of deep blue velvet. A small smile unconsciously crept unto her lips as her fingers traced the complex lines inside the circle shaped pendant. Her adoptive father used to tell her that the pendant wasn't only the key to her journal and it's hiding place, but to her. Until this day, she still didn't know what he meant.

She dismissed her thoughts and opened the clasp of the gold chain the pendant hung from and put it around her neck. Her eyes quickly found the large mirror on the opposite side of the room and she smiled at her reflection. The gold pendant looked so natural on her, like it really was a part of her, and somehow it felt as though she had never removed it.

The task at hand pulled her from her musings and she put back the floorboard, putting the jewellery box in the bag that hung over her shoulder. When she got up from the dusty floor, her eyes caught sight of a couple of old photographs on the nightstand. The pictures were barely visible under the thick layer of dust, but she knew exactly what they were.

She was unable to fight the urge to dust them off and just look at them for a last time. The first picture was of her and Molly as seventeen year olds, arms around each other and grinning like madmen. Irene couldn't help herself and the first genuine smile in what felt like centuries emerged on her lips. The other photograph was from when she was sixteen, a year before the sundering. Her parents were standing at the Eiffel tower smiling merrily with a girl she barely recognised between them, smiling as much, genuine happiness radiating from her eyes.

She had almost forgotten her, Astra. For over four years she'd only been Irene. The previous six she spent burying and imprisoning her old self. Someone that was slowly coming back to life. Thanks to Sherlock Holmes?

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><p>Author's note: Okay, this was just focused on Irene, or Astra, but I'm quite pleased with it. The descriptions of everything is another matter and I'm not that sure I got them right. Please tell me what you think and I hope that you've enjoyed this chapter.<p> 


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